Au Revoir, Capitaine
by WolfKael
Summary: Pip x Seras. Set after ending of the series but before the epilogue. She makes preparations for his funeral. Could be viewed as a sequel to "Vengeance Incarnate", but doesn't strictly reference it. Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HELLSING


**A/N: So, this is my second Hellsing Oneshot/Drabble. This one is…maybe more light-hearted? Sort-of? …it definitely has more humor. Anyway, this is Seras x Pip, set after the end of the series, but before the epilogue.**

"Are you really alright with this?"

_"__Why wouldn't I be?"_

"You don't…" she stares up at the bright moon, "…You don't want to be buried in France?"

_"__Pah!"_ he scoffs, suppressing the urge to light a cigarette, _"_Ma Chere_ is here, _non_? Why would I bury my heart in France?"_

"But…your family…"

_"__Dead,"_ he replies simply, _"Everyone important, anyway. There are a few cousins that I never really talked to, but there's no love lost there."_

They sit in silence, watching the night sky overhead.

"Come on, Captain," she smirks, and he can feel her shaping the shadow at her left arm, "I can _feel_ you itching for a cigarette."

He allows himself to possess the form she's created, shaping it more firmly around his consciousness. They can't hold this for long – not yet, anyhow – but he allows himself a moment to inhale the crisp night air.

She reaches inside her coat pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes – _his_ brand, he notices with a smile – and his lighter. He takes it in his lips and lights it with practiced ease.

"_Merci_, _Ma Chere."_

"You're welcome, Captain," she smiles.

-BREAK-

_"__Non. Non, non, non!"_

"No," Seras agrees.

He continues to support her with more swearing in multiple languages – mostly French, but, being a mercenary, he knows _a lot_ of languages.

_He probably learned the crudest words first, _she snorts to herself.

"What's wrong?" Integra raises an eyebrow.

_"__I will _not_ be dressed by an old man!"_ he declares in her head.

"You are _not_ stuffing him into some perfectly-starched suit," _Honestly, Captain, _that's_ your problem?_

_"__Well, I don't disagree with _you_ either,"_ he shrugs.

"Then what is he going to wear, Seras Victoria?" Sir Integra arches a single eyebrow.

"What he…always…does," she answers nervously, squirming under her watchful glare.

"What he always _wore_," she stresses the tense, "is now riddled with _holes_ and stained with _blood_."

Seras brushes past her, swallowing her own fear, and brushes a clump of hair from his eyes.

_'__They look like they're sleeping,'_ people would always comment, like they did at her parents' funeral. She'd rejected such comments harshly – all she could see was the terror, frozen on their faces.

She cups his jaw in her hand. They've even removed his eye-patch, revealing the pale scar that traces diagonally across the socket. His long hair has been left unbraided, spilling over the edge of the table and nearly brushing the ground.

_They _never_ look like they're sleeping, _she decides, noticing the pallor of his skin, even beneath the cosmetics applied by the mortician. He's cold beneath her fingers.

_"__Ma Chere,"_ he whispers gently.

"I'm okay," she whispers back, "I'm fine, Captain," she traces the scar with a finger.

"…Seras Victoria."

"Sir Integra," she responds promptly, turning to face the icy-eyed woman, "I…please let me dress him," her voice barely manages to worm its way from her throat.

She stares the Draculina down before nodding silently, "Alright. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Sir Integra."

"He was important to you, wasn't he?" she smiles sadly, her eyes suddenly soft.

"Yes," she whispers.

-BREAK-

Her fingers comb through his chestnut hair, carefully braiding it as he did. Admittedly, it's not the first time she's done so.

Back in Rio do Janeiro, she'd helped him tend to his loosened braid, just before they went out to look for a way out – and get groceries while they were at it. The sun hadn't even risen, and he'd already gotten up to smoke and make breakfast.

She'd woken up to see him sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully combing out his long tail.

_Vain man,_ she'd thought momentarily, _isn't hair like that horribly impractical in battle?_

"It's difficult to find a decent barber when you're stationed on standby in the middle of nowhere," he snorts – she'd spoken aloud in her groggy state – "It's easier to keep it long enough to pull back. Besides," that roguish grin spread on his face, "I _am_ a bit vain, _je suppose._ I spent too much time waiting for it to become long enough to tie back. Too much trouble to go through a second time, _non_? Most importantly, _Ma Chere_," he wagged his eyebrows, "Women love to play with it. _Leurs doigts s'emmêlent en elle comme ils crient mon nom d'extase._"

She'd snorted and thrown a shoe at him. She didn't _need_ to know what he'd said – she knew it was something perverted. He laughed heartily and returned to his work, humming a bawdy song under his breath.

She couldn't help but watch him, however. She'd never had long hair, herself.

He noticed her staring and chuckled with a warm eye, "What?" he began, "Do you want to help, _Mignonette_?"

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she declined, but…

"Silly girl," he grimaced, "You don't brush long hair from the roots, you start at the tips and slowly work upward."

"R-really?"

"_Oui_…you've _really_ never had long hair, _Ma Chere._ Tomboy from the beginning, then?"

She pulled harshly at a tangle, earning a hiss of pain.

His fingers had worked deftly where her own seemed thick and clumsy. His fingers were long and thin, but strong. His hands absolutely dwarfed hers.

She sighs, smiling fondly at the memories of their brief time together, and pauses in her braiding to rest her hand on his. It still seems tiny in comparison – and pale, _so pale_ in comparison to his.

_"__You know, Mignonette,"_ he comments suddenly, after his large span of silence, _"I think that was one of the first times we actually had a friendly conversation."_

"I threw a shoe at you," she snorts with a smile.

_"__For us, at the time, that _was_ friendly,"_ he shrugs.

"…I think that was the day I decided I didn't _hate_ you," she smirks.

_"…__I think that was the day I started to fall in love, _Ma Chere,_"_ he replies softly.

"So when did you fully fall for me, Captain Bernadotte?"

_"__I'm not really sure,"_ he laughs, _"People believe that falling in love is like a lightning strike – it's a powerful flash that illuminates the darkness and you suddenly just…love someone. _Je ne suis pas d'accord._ It's far more gentle than that. Sure, there were moments where I thought 'You're a fool, Pip Bernadotte, for not kissing her when you had the chance!'"_

A single trail of red streaks from an eye, which she wipes away – hopefully before he notices.

_"__There were a lot of things that made me want you in my bed,"_ he continues, _"Made me want to taste your skin beneath my tongue. Feel you writhe beneath me, hear you scream my name…but that is lust, _non_? The moments where I realized that I couldn't imagine my future without you…perhaps _those_ are the moments we seek? Really, Ma Chere," _he purrs, _"If you're truly in love, you never stop falling."_

"You're a fool, Captain Bernadotte."

-BREAK-

_HERE LIE THE WILD GEESE_

_PROTECTORS OF HELLSING MANOR_

_WARRIORS AGAINST EVIL_

_REST WITH HONOR_

The large monument then lists the name of each member and their years as needed, with a proper epitaph. Her eyes lock onto the largest, in the middle.

_CAPTAIN PIPPEN BERNADOTTE_

_1972-2000_

_Dead, but not gone. Eternally remembered._

_Last Captain of The Wild Geese_

_"__Eh, still a bit long, isn't it?"_ he laughs softly, _"I don't see why an additional epitaph was necessary, Mignonette. Not for me, anyhow. Who is going to read it? No one will come to seek closure here."_

"I will."


End file.
